


Beginning

by Glare



Series: The Other Side of Paradise [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Daughter Relationship, First Meetings, M/M, Other, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Suitless Vader/Vaderkin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10168895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: The fall of the Empire begins with a journal, clutched in the small hands of a six year-old girl.





	1. Leia

The fall of the Empire begins with a journal, clutched in the small hands of a six year-old girl. She patters through the halls of the Senate building, trying and failing to catch the man from whose cloak the little book had fallen. It’s only polite to return lost things to their owner, as her parents have taught her, but no amount of shouting has caught the man’s attention. Frustration is beginning to wear on her, her legs too short to even give her the slightest chance of catching his quick, long strides. She is not helped when everyone the man nears steps out of his way, clearing path down the center of the hall for him to pass.

“Wait!” she calls one final time, but he disappears into a turbolift without so much as a glance back, carried away in any direction to one of the massive building’s countless floors. She will never find him, at this rate.

With a huff, Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan tucks the lost book under her arm, stomping past the closed turbolift doors and back in the direction of her father’s office, the tail of her white dress flaring out behind her. Senators and their aids watch her as she goes, but none of them move to interfere. Their curiosity about her had faded after the first few days of trailing along behind her father, her presence in the senate now just another part of the routine. It is very difficult to keep the attention of politicians; there is always newer, juicier gossip to be discussed. Leia does not have to be a politician herself to understand, and oftentimes finds herself sneering at their shallowness.

It has been nearly a standard month since they first arrived at Imperial Center. Her mother suggested it would be a good idea for her father to bring one of the children with him the next time he came for a senate meeting, though Leia hadn’t been particularly interested in coming along. There were more pressing matters to be handled among her small social circle, and Luke has always been far more enthusiastic about the workings of new worlds than she. Auntie ‘Soka negated his request to come along, however, claiming Luke not yet strong enough in the control of his emotion to linger long in the Core, therefore forcing Leia to accompany her father. While it has been a good learning experience thus far for her future following in her parents’ footsteps, more and more she finds herself missing home. Missing her brother. They have never been apart so long.

Not that she can talk to anyone about it. As far as most of the galaxy is concerned, the Prince of Alderaan is nothing more than an urban legend. Leia has traversed the galaxy, but her brother often finds himself locked away in the palace. While it it’s not a terrible prison, filled with great courtyards and spacious rooms and access to the holo, Luke has always been a free spirit. On the rare occasion she is able to sneak him out of the palace, he comes alive in ways he never is at home. These opportunities are far and few between, terrifying their parents and often ending in punishment for the both of them when their guards finally locate them. Leia would take that risk again and again if only to see her brother’s smile.

“Leia? Where have you been?” Her father asks when she pads back into his office, briefly glancing up from his work as she settles down on a couch near the wall. “You didn’t tell me you’d be gone so long.”

Leia shrugs, placing the journal beside her and collecting her previously abandoned coursework. “I didn’t mean to,” she replies. Bail hums, turning his attention back to his paperwork as Leia returns to her own.

As fascinating as she might have found the democratic monarchy of Naboo on another day, Leia can’t help the distraction that the small, leather-bound book at her side brings. No matter how studiously she turns away from it, it always draws her attention back, seemingly effortless. While she knows she shouldn’t intrude upon the privacy of others, should just hand the journal over to her father and let him return it to its owner, she can’t help but to be curious as to its contents. The book is old, worn around its edges, the cover bearing an insignia she doesn’t recognize. This is perhaps the most perplexing part, as Leia has been taught a great many of the Empire’s many signs and symbols.

Eventually the temptation of the secrets within proves to be too much, and she finds herself setting her classwork aside in favor of drawing the journal into her lap. She’s careful as she cracks the cover, running her fingers over the delicate pages and tracing the ink that stands out against them. Leia doesn’t really read at first, skimming over the paragraphs until she understands the basic purpose of the journal. It seems to be the personal journal of someone named Obi-Wan Kenobi, a high general in the Clone Wars conflict from which their Empire was born.

While Bail had often told both Leia and Luke about the Jedi Order, warriors painted traitors by Imperial propaganda, there is something exhilarating about reading about the Jedi for herself. Perhaps it is the thrill of rebellion, information on the Jedi strictly forbidden in imperial schooling; perhaps it’s the dynamic of Kenobi’s writing, bringing even the most mundane of reports to life with vibrant detail. Either way she finds herself hunched over the brittle pages, sucked into the world of lost heroes.

Imagine her surprise, then, when she flips to a new entry and reads her father’s name among the pages. Leia knows her father had worked with the Jedi during the Clone Wars, bit _Kenobi_? Her father had known Obi-Wan Kenobi? The report is exhilarating: General Kenobi and his partner, General Skywalker, escorting her father on a diplomatic mission, bringing aid to the people of a war-torn world. It’s almost unbelievable, the things she reads. Her father had always downplayed his role in the Clone Wars and his involvement with the Jedi, but from what she reads here, it sounds as though he is a hero. Bail Organa has helped those too weak to help themselves despite nearly insurmountable odds. It’s a strange contrast to the soft-spoken Imperial senator she sees at his desk, only daring to speak of life before the Empire in the quiet of night, safe within the walls of the palace.

“Daddy?” Leia asks, drawing his attention. “Did you really know General Kenobi?”

Bail appears surprised from her question, eyes ticking down from her face to the journal in her lap. Recognition flashes in his eyes, shock and fear briefly flickering across his face. It’s wiped from his expression as quickly as it came, but Leia can still feel it heavy in the air around her. Scrunching her nose, she briefly focuses on building up her mental shields the way Auntie ‘Soka taught her; she shouldn’t be feeling anyone’s emotions.

“Leia,” her father’s voice is even, but not in the way it usually is. It’s the careful, controlled, falsely pleasant tone he uses when discussing things with politicians he doesn’t agree with. “Where did you get that book?”

“A man dropped it,” she mumbles. “I tried to give it back, but he was too fast.”

“This man—what did he look like?”

“He was tall. All of his clothes were black, and he had this—” she gestures toward her face “— _mask_. It made his breathing really loud.”

When her father fails to respond, she shuffles across the room and deposits the journal on his desk. While she can’t nail down exactly what about the situation set her father off, Leia supposes it has to do with the journal belonging to a former Jedi. Knowledge of them is strictly regulated, and having a former Jedi’s journal in their possession could prove to be extremely dangerous. She’s suddenly regretting not immediately handing the book over. Or better yet, she should have just left it where it fell. Even with her shored shields, she can still feel the edge of Bail’s terror battering at her mind.

“Thank you, Leia,” he says tersely, placing the journal carefully in one of his desk drawers and pulling out a com link. She recognizes it not as one of his usual coms, but as one of the _special_ ones. The ones that are old and battered, clearly from a time before the Empire’s rise to power. Com links like those are never used in her presence, and certainly never when they’re out from within the privacy of their home. “I’m afraid I need to make a call. Could you please wait outside?”

Despite her displeasure at the dismissal, Leia goes without complaint; her father is stressed enough without having to deal with her arguing. Stepping out into the hall, she’s surprised to discover how empty it is. Time had flown by so quickly while lost in the depths of Kenobi’s journal that she hadn’t even realized how late it was until now. No wonder her father is feeling confident enough to use his secret com link. At this hour, there’s no one around to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Or rather, there’s only one person around to eavesdrop. Leia might have agreed to step out without complaint, but that doesn’t mean she’s simply going to give up on her curiosity. Instead she presses her ear to the door, trying to catch what’s being said through the metal. For the first few minutes it’s nothing but mumbling, but before long her father and whoever he’s talking to begin to raise their voices. Whatever they’re discussing, it obviously isn’t pleasant.

“If Vader was there, Kenobi, how in the hells are you still alive!?  He what, just stopped in for a chat and borrowed your journal?”

Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not only did her father know him, he’s still alive. Bail is still in contact with him.

“I slept with him, Bail! Is that what you wanted to hear!? I thought I was just hallucinating, or dreaming, and when I woke up in the morning both he and the journal were gone.”

“Your carelessness has put everything in danger! My wife and I, the twins, the whole kriffing rebellion—”

“—was going to do something, he would have already done it.”

“You can’t know—”

Leia suddenly gets the feeling that eavesdropping was a bad idea. This was obviously a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear, or else her father wouldn’t have sent her out of the room. She doesn’t have all the pieces to understand the discussion, but she doesn’t need them to know that something has gone very wrong with her father’s plans. Maybe Bail thinks she and Luke aren’t aware of the late-night meetings, the secret trips, the hidden records, but they are. They’re aware of how important they are, and how much they mean to more people than just their father. Hearing him so scared makes _Leia_ scared.

Biting her lip, she pulls away from the door. She isn’t sure how long their conversation is going to continue, but she knows that she doesn’t want to linger by the door any longer. Even this far away, she can feel the brush of Bail’s anger and fear against her mind. If she wants to stay in control of her emotions, to stay hidden behind her shields, she needs to put some distance between herself and her father.

There’s a communal sitting area just down the hall, Leia knows, for guests waiting on a senator or a meeting. At this hour, it’s probably empty, so she begins to walk in that direction. She only passes one other person on the way, an exhausted-looking aide who doesn’t even glance in her direction. As predicted, the sitting area is empty. Clambering up onto one of the fancy couches, Leia curls up and tries to think of some way to pass the time. The late hour, however, combined with the stress she’s picked up off Bail, drags her into sleep before she even considers the option.

Later—how much later, she is unsure—Leia’s woken by someone gently shaking her shoulder. “Child,” the mystery man calls, then adds hesitantly, “Leia.”

She blinks open bleary eyes, staring up into the unfamiliar face of the man who’s woken her. Even kneeling at her side, she knows he’s tall. Short-cropped, sandy-blonde hair and sickly yellow eyes, the right bisected by a long, thin scar. There are bags under his eyes, as though he hasn’t been sleeping well, and an uncertain expression on his face. She can feel him in the air, like a black hole that draws in all the warmth around them, but for some reason she isn’t frightened.

“It’s very late, Leia,” he says. “What are you doing out here?”

“Father had to take a com,” she mumbles, sleep still hovering at the edge of her mind, threatening to pull her back under. Her eyelids flutter, head tipping as she begins to drop off again, and then she’s being carefully lifted from the couch and held to a black-clad chest. Usually she might have protested the treatment—any child raised in the hostile social climate of the Empire knows better than to go anywhere with strangers—but Leia can feel no ill will coming from the man when she clumsily reaches out with the senses Auntie ‘Soka calls the _Force_.

The man sucks in a sharp breath, recoiling from her mental contact when she first brushes against his shields. His hands clench where they hold her, grip just shy of too tight, and it feels like something _snaps_ into place within her mind—as though some hole she’d never noticed were suddenly filled. He exhales in time with Leia’s own breath, hands loosening from the fists they’ve made and smoothing down the wrinkles in the back of her dress. “We should get you back to your father, little one,” he murmurs, and Leia nods into his shoulder.

She drifts off before they reach Bail’s office, trusting the dark stranger to get her back to where she belongs.


	2. Bail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods above. Ok. I'm still not happy with this chapter, but I've been tinkering with it for the last three days and at this point i'm just sick of looking at it.

Bail drops the old, Republic-era com link to the surface of his desk with a low groan, scrubbing at his face and tired eyes with his hands. His conversation with Kenobi has gone on far longer than he expected to, and while the senator knows he should collect Leia from her place out in the hall, he doesn’t think he can get up from his chair. Collect Leia, update Captain Antilles, contact Fulcrum; there is an extensive list of things that need doing in the face of this monumental breach in security, but Bail needs a moment to himself first. If he’s going to allow himself even a hope of salvaging the mess this situation has quickly become, he needs to get his whirling thoughts in order.

Kenobi. Of all the things to rattle the skeleton of the fledgling Rebellion, of all the people to topple the delicate house of cards he’s meticulously built, it’s none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi that’s brought it all crashing down. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi, spurning attachments in favor of their Code; Obi-Wan Kenobi, the conspirator, among the first to plot against the galaxy’s new Emperor; Obi-Wan Kenobi, the friend, loyal both to Bail and to the man whose children House Organa has taken in despite the risks. The sheer impossibility of it all is near enough to send Bail into a fit of hysterical laughter. Kenobi had condemned himself to the life of a hermit, exiled himself to a barren planet on the galaxy’s most outer rim, in order to stay out from under Bail’s feet and give his rebellion the barest hope of thriving in the Empire’s shadow. Yet somehow, he has managed to trip Bail up from the other end of the galaxy.

It has been obvious in their increasingly infrequent coms that a hermit’s solitary life is not doing his old friend any favors. Some days Obi-Wan is present, whole and clear-minded in a way that reminds Bail of the General who once protected the Republic with Anakin Skywalker at his side. Other days, however, Kenobi seems lost inside the maze of his own mind. Whether this is a product of Tatooine’s endless desserts, the brutal slaughter of his people, or some other factor entirely is unknown. On those days, Kenobi is prone to forgetting; the ghosts of his past lurk in the corners of his eye. Bail has caught him in the middle of conversations and arguments with an imaginary Anakin Skywalker before, but at the time he’s written it off as the effects of isolation on a war hero—the harmless babbling of an old hermit.

He knows better now.

It was nothing but dumb luck that led Vader to Kenobi on one of those days when the man’s mind had retreated to the sanctuary of memory. A rational, present Kenobi would have died before allowing the secrets of the Rebellion to fall into the hands of its greatest enemy—would have remembered the atrocities committed by his wayward pupil and would have never jeopardized what Bail and his inner circle are growing in the quiet moments and the darkened corners of the Empire. But Obi-Wan hadn’t remembered, seeing man he loved instead of the monster he’d become as he welcomed Vader into his arms and into his bed.

Which brings about a whole new set of questions for Bail to consider as he runs his fingers delicately over Kenobi’s lost journal, so many parsecs away from where it’s meant to be. If Vader had truly discovered Kenobi, tracked him to his homeworld and to his little desert hut, why had he not simply killed the man? Why had he accepted the invitation to dine and take tea, then fallen into bed with the Master he’d years ago written off as his mortal enemy? A look into the journal’s contents reveals nothing. There are entries beyond Obi-Wan’s last—curt recordings of the Empire’s movements in Vader’s wavy handwriting that would be a gift to Bail’s cause on another day—but nothing that reveals the motivations behind the Sith Apprentice’s own apparent rebellion. Palpatine would have known that Vader took a trip to Tatooine in his hunt for Kenobi and would have demanded a report on what he found. Vader must have told the Emperor that he’d killed his old Master, or claimed to have not discovered anything at all. Either way, Vader had lied; Palpatine would have never accepted Obi-Wan’s continued existence, no matter his state of mind.

What’s more, if Vader has read even a few of Kenobi’s later entries in the journal, he would have learned of the twins’ existence. Luke and Leia Organa, really Luke and Leia Amidala-Skywalker, the children he believed to have died with his wife over six years ago. If he knows they survived, if he knows that they’ve been taken in by the royal house of Alderaan to be raised and groom to stand against everything he stands for, why hasn’t he come for them? Why is Bail still sitting here in the halls of the Senate, rather than being dragged before a firing squad for this treason and more?

A sharp rap at the door startles Bail from his thoughts. “Come in,” he calls, assuming it to be Leia, seeking to return now that he’s finished his conversation. He is not entirely wrong.

Leia is returning, but she is not alone. Instead the girl is bundled, apparently fast asleep, in the arms of none other than Darth Vader. This, if anything, confirms Bail’s suspicions that Vader knows the true origins of the Organa children—not the fairy tale the rest of the galaxy has been told. He should probably be panicking, he realizes, but can’t seem to muster the effort for anything beyond a bleak sense of resignation. If Vader intends to kill him for his trespass, there is really very little he can do about it. Bail is a strong man, and he has overcome a great many obstacles in his life, but even he is no match for a Force-wielder. Especially one as powerful as Vader.

To his surprise, however, he does not immediately find himself writhing on the floor, gasping and clutching at this throat while an invisible noose tightens around it as he has seen so many do in the wake of Vader’s rage. No, instead Vader strides into his office, plants his feet and… glowers. Entirely unsure what to make of this situation, Bail does not speak, and an awkward, tense silence falls over the room.

Vader is the first to break it. “Are you so careless with all children, or just the ones that aren’t yours?” the Sith Apprentice sneers, and Bail recognizes the petulance in his tone. He hasn’t heard it since the last time he witnessed an argument between Generals Skywalker and Kenobi during the Clone Wars: anger thrown up like a wall, shielding unease and insecurity. He is as unsure about his presence here as Bail is.

Knowing this, Bail doesn’t answer the man’s question. It’s meant to rile him, and responding would only give Vader an excuse for further aggression. Instead, Bail draws on all the training in patience he ever received in preparation for his career in politics, remaining silent as he gestures to the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. Vader will get to the point eventually if he isn’t given a chance to derail the conversation with blame and petty name-calling.

Apparently accepting his invitation, Vader steps up to the desk and draws one of the chairs out with the Force. Bail, despite spending quite a few years around Force-users, is still not quite accustomed to the casual way Vader uses his power. Such actions had been frowned upon by the Jedi. “You shouldn’t have left her out there on her own,” the younger man insists as he settles down into the chair. He’s exceedingly careful to jostle the girl in his arms as little as possible, but Leia still fusses a bit. She has always been a light sleeper, and it takes Vader a long moment to settle her once again. “I can name at least a dozen of Palpatine’s officers who would have no qualms about snatching an unattended child for their own nefarious purposes.”

While Vader attends to Leia, who squirms in his grip in her attempts to get comfortable, Bail takes the opportunity to really study the younger man. It occurs to him then that Vader is not wearing his mask; he has come as himself, and not the persona he presents to the rest of the galaxy. This is, Bail thinks, the first time he’s seen the face of Anakin Skywalker since the man donned the title of Darth Vader over six years ago. He’s aged, though that is to be expected, and he’s cut his hair so it won’t get caught in his mask. Other than that, however, very little has physically changed about Darth Vader since he abandoned the name of Anakin Skywalker. It seems strange that time should has left his beauty intact despite the horrors that lurk behind his eyes and the swathe of destruction he’s cut though the galaxy at large. The thought serves as a bitter reminder of just how young Vader is—of how much he’s gone through in his short life.

His daughter is six years old, and this is the first time he’s ever held her.

“What brings you here tonight, Lord Vader?” Bail finally asks, drawing the man’s attention back to the matter at hand: Vader’s unprecedented arrival in Bail’s office in the late hours.

Clearing his throat and schooling his face into a stern expression, Vader meets Bail’s eyes and demands, “I’ve come for the journal Leia found this afternoon.”

It might have been intimidating if not for the fact that Bail is not dead yet, meaning there is a distinct possibility that he may get out of this encounter alive. “She said she tried getting your attention earlier, but you didn’t hear her.”

The journal is all but snatched from his hands when he offers it, but not immediately tucked out of sight. First it is inspected with the same keen eye that a krayt dragon of Vader’s homeworld may use when inspecting their own treasure. Only when it is deemed intact and unharmed does Vader respond.

“Darth Vader does not have time to humor children. To speak to her would have been out of character. It would have drawn the attention of the attention of the senators and their lackeys present in the halls, which would have drawn my Master’s in turn. And we don’t want that, do we, Senator?”

“Don’t we?” Bail asks, because this feels like a test. In his honest opinion, Palpatine’s attention on Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala’s secret, Force-sensitive children would be a disaster; it is the very reason Luke has been confined to the Alderaan palace since their gifts began to manifest. However, any loyal Imperial senator would probably be drooling at the opportunities for advancement that such personal attention from their Emperor might bring them.

Vader scoffs at his response, mechanical hand clenching in the back of Leia’s dress in an involuntary, possessive gesture. “No,” he hisses, “we don’t.”

While Bail had begun to suspect Vader of his own quiet rebellion when his com call with Kenobi confirmed the man alive despite his journal having fallen into the Sith’s hands, it’s still surprising to have those suspicions so openly confirmed. If there is anything Vader is known for, it is his unquestioning loyalty to the Emperor. This rebellious streak—sparing Kenobi, sparing Bail, hiding his children—speaks more to the temperament of Anakin Skywalker than his darker counterpart. The senator almost doesn’t want to let himself believe that such a return is possible; surely Kenobi’s words, whatever they had been, couldn’t have had that much effect on Vader. Could they?

“And why the sudden change of heart?”

“If my Master knew of their existence, he would take them from me. They would be nothing more than pawns in his grand scheme—incentive to keep me in line. Disposable.” His jaw jump, a grimace on his face. He has never liked to admit vulnerability, especially when he s unsure how it will be received.  “For years I have knelt before him, obeyed him blindly, because I believed I had nothing left. He made me think that Obi-Wan hated me, that my children were dead, that I could serve no purpose to the galaxy beyond standing at his side. I know better now, and I will not have my children fall victim to the same manipulation.”

Another man may have questioned the validity of Vader’s claim; another man would have been suspicious of this sudden change of heart. If it had been another ranking Imperial officer coming to him about defection, Bail would have considered this conversation a trap. When it comes to Vader, however, he takes the man at face value. For all the gifts Darth Vader possesses, manipulation is not one of them. He is straightforward in everything.

“I suppose this means the twins will be remaining on Alderaan, then?”

As soon as he says it, Vader seems to deflate, apparently relieved that he isn’t going to have to argue with Bail about his motivations. “Yes, I think that would be for the best,” he sighs. “How is the boy? Luke? I’ve heard very little about him.”

“Is it safe to discuss that here?”

Vader waves a dismissive hand. “Your office is not being monitored. We are as safe here as anywhere else, for now. That may come to change very quickly, however, if you keep drawing attention to yourself. Already there are whispers in the halls of the palace that Bail Organa harbors some… _seditious_ opinions about the Empire.”

Bail nods in acknowledgement of the warning. “Luke is wonderful. Intelligent, compassionate, the spitting image of his father.” Vader’s lips twitch at the comment, clearly pleased with the thought. Leia may have inherited her father’s power and fiery temper, but her features are very reminiscent of her mother’s. “He has your strength in the Force, as well. Leia is powerful, but Luke is… well… it’s the reason he doesn’t come to the Core.”

“They’ve clearly received some training, or else they would have been discovered long ago. I assume you’re playing host to some wayward Jedi?” It’s not really a question; there are very few Force-sensitives beyond those last remnants of the Order who could handle Anakin Skywalker’s children. “I can draw attention away from Alderaan for now, but if you intend to stand against the Emperor, you must be prepared to make your first move. You won’t be able to hide your intentions forever, nor will your individual cells be able to stand on their own once the fleet is deployed. My Master will only tolerate their interference so long.”

The thing about rebellion is that there is a delicate timetable one must follow if they hope to be successful. To move too soon would assuredly been their destruction, as the Empire keeps a watchful eye out for those who resist the changing regime. To move too late, however, would be just as much an error. If they allow the citizens to fall into mindless compliance, it will be much harder to rally the support they need. Bail had placed their current position on that timetable closer to the former, but the addition of Vader into the mix has thrown a wrench in the equation. He’s brash, impulsive, and the Emperor’s Right Hand. He can provide resources that would have taken the Rebellion years to amass on their own.

Their timetable has been pushed drastically forward.

“I will have my agents contact the rebel cells,” Bail announces. “Welcome to the Rebellion, Lord Vader.”

Vader chuckles, rising from his chair and signaling the end of their conversation. Bail meets him by the door, accepting the sleeping Leia and settling her into his arms. He hesitates for just a moment before stepping from the office, taking the time to brush a wayward hair from Leia’s face and murmuring a soft goodbye. It will be some time before he can see his daughter again, and Bail can’t help the brief pang of sorrow he feels as he watches Vader retreat down the hallway. While he can’t imagine life without the twins in it, in another more perfect universe, they could have known their father as he was and not the man that he has become.


End file.
